


Knight of Gotham: Prologue

by rawrockisntdead



Series: Knight of Gotham [1]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-13 11:52:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18940375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rawrockisntdead/pseuds/rawrockisntdead
Summary: Bruce Wayne's parents are killed during a botched robbery. How he copes with the tragedy will change the course of his life and the history of Gotham, New Jersey forever.





	1. Chapter 1

I still remember that night in vivid detail. I was nine. Men in Black had been out a couple weeks, and a young Bruce Wayne had pleaded with his somewhat laid back father, Thomas, and his far more uptight mother, Martha, to see it incessantly. They finally caved in. We went to the old Gotham Cineplex to catch the 5:45 showing. It was all right, I guess. I don't remember much from the movie itself.

We got up as soon as the credits began crawling up the screen. My dad thought it was cool and my mom thought it was dumb, and that was that. No use arguing, especially on their boy's birthday. Besides, it was only eight o' clock. Bedtime wasn't for another two hours. The night was still young, as far as the Waynes were concerned.

Instead of exiting the auditorium and going out the front door, my parents opted for the door leading out into a near-hidden alley. We were parked closer.

As we stepped out just beyond the night lights of Gotham City, New Jersey, my dad, his right hand in my left, looked eagerly out across the street, toward the glow of an old-fashioned ice cream shop's neon lights. He turned to my mom and gave her a suggestive smirk and raised his eyebrows. She returned the expression and asked me, "Bruce, how does some ice cream sound?" I was so excited by the question that I didn't properly reply. I stuttered happily, eventually abandoning my sentence and grinning widely.

"I think that means 'It sounds good', Martha," my dad chuckled.

My mom, her left hand in my right, tittered and lovingly lifted her hand, freeing it from my grip and running it over my hair. It was jet black, "Just like your old man," my dad would gleefully say. My mom took my hand again, and it was then we heard a grunt a little farther off and to the left.

We came to a quick halt, and my dad stepped in front of us, letting go of my hand and squinting in the dark. He took his keys from his pocket. On the ring was the car key and the house key. He put the sharper-toothed house key in his left hand, closing it into a fist so the blade stuck out between his middle and ring finger.

"Hello?" He called out. A mass against the left wall moved and emerged.

It was a guy dressed in old, shambled clothes, his blond hair grown long and scraggly. His eyes were sunken with rings of fatigue around them, and his face looked like it hung from his skull. Even in the dusk, it was plain to see that he was shaking all over; probably DTs.

My dad gently pushed my mom and I further behind him and asked the stranger, "Do you need help, sir?"

The stranger saw the key in my dad's fist. He responded by reaching into one of the pockets of his ratty coat and withdrawing a snub nosed handgun. He raised it shakily, taking aim at my dad. My dad's eyes widened in alarm as he raised his hands.

"Look," the stranger said, nearly choking on the word, "I don't want to hurt either of you...or your little boy. I just need some money."

"Don't you threaten my boy," my dad seethed.

"Thomas, just give him some money," my mom's voice trembled. By now she was shielding me with her body, her back to my dad and the stranger, pressing me to her so I couldn't see.

Seeing his wife and child in such a state seemed to soften something in my dad. He took his wallet from his back pocket and tossed it to the stranger. The shaking, weary stranger didn't have any trigger discipline. So when my dad tossed him his wallet so suddenly, he reflexively squeezed with his index finger. The sound echoed off the close walls of the alley and out into the night. Up to that point it was the loudest sound I'd ever heard. I found out later that first bullet hit my dad's shoulder. "AAOW!" he roared. He probably realized then that the stranger was an even greater danger than he'd thought, if not by virtue of malicious intent then by the lowered function of his mind. He rushed the stranger, struggling for the gun. My mom was screaming, clutching me even tighter. Two more shots rang out. My mother's screams were cut off by a gasp. I heard my dad crumple to the ground.

"Close your eyes, Brucie," my mom whispered. I obeyed, and felt her bring herself to her knees and press me even closer still. After one last squeeze, she let me go, falling to my left side. I kept my eyes closed. I could hear the stranger was still there.

"Oh, f&$%...oh s#^!...I didn't me-...I di-..." A choking gulp, the shuffling of feet, and then...silence. I kept my eyes closed.

I didn't open my eyes until I heard another pair of feet approach. I heard a woman gasp and run toward me. She stopped right in front of me, kneeling and taking my face in her hands. "Honey?" she asked, "All you all right?" I kept my eyes shut. "Honey, open your eyes," she said. I reluctantly obeyed. She was just a stranger. She quickly placed her hands like blinders on either side of my eyes. "Don't look, honey...don't look." She glanced over her shoulder. When she looked back at me, she said, "Okay, honey, I'm gonna need you to close your eyes again. Take my hand and follow me.  _Don't open your eyes_."

The next time she told me to open my eyes, I found myself in her car. She was outside on the phone...with the police. "...heard gunshots. I went to go see, and I found..." She looked up at the sky and moved her jaw up and down like a fish, searching for words. She looked at me, and then continued, "Look, just please get down here. Right by the Cineplex. Hurry, their boy is still here. Thank you." She hung up and got in the driver's seat. She put her hand on my arm and locked eyes with me, nodding, "You're going to be okay. The police will be here soon." I only found it in me to nod back.

Fifteen minutes later, and the Cineplex was surrounded by flashing lights and yellow tape. Officers walked into the pitch dark of the alley, and when they walked out, they often hung their heads. One in particular, not in blues, but a trench coat, simply stood at the mouth of the alley and looked in. His shoulders heaved up and back down with a slow sigh. When he tore his eyes away, they locked on me. He ducked under the tape and jogged over, telling the woman, "You did right calling this in, ma'am. Thank you. We'll take it from here."

The woman opened the passenger door and beckoned to me, "Come on out, honey." I slowly stepped out, looking the policeman in the eye. He lowered himself to my height and put a hand on my shoulder.

"Hi, Bruce. I'm detective James Gordon. You can call me Jim. I'm going to take you home. Are you ready to go home?"

I nodded, breaking my silence, "Y-yes...yes, I'm ready."

* * *

The familiar creak of the front door of Wayne Manor was followed by the appearance of Alfred Pennyworth, the family butler. He was visibly confused upon seeing Jim with his hand on my shoulder. His lips drew slightly apart. What had happened had registered. He looked into Jim's sympathetic eyes and then down at me. "Ah...Master Bruce, go inside. I think I need to have a talk with the policeman." I knew what about. I stepped inside and walked the halls till I reached my room, hearing the front door shut behind me, not looking to my right or left. I just sat on my bed.

I didn't move until my bedroom door opened. Alfred gingerly stepped in, his eyes tinged red. He kneeled in front of me, placing a hand on my knee. He swallowed, barely able to hold eye contact, "Master Bruce, I...I...oh, my dear boy..."

He rose up and hugged me, letting out those blasting breaths that let you know someone is trying to keep from sobbing. As I felt the embrace, it was as though I suddenly remembered I was a little boy, and one that had lost his parents. I had no reservations about wailing aloud, and so that's what I did.

It was ten thirty by then, far past my bedtime.


	2. Chapter 2

There aren't many times in life when a few seconds (a few  _split_ seconds, really) can feel like hours. Most examples that come to mind are probably things along the lines of the moment before a girl kisses a boy, or before a roller coaster tips into its highest drop, or the time in the air a soccer ball spends before reaching the goal. That's not what my brain goes to. How could it? When I think of a few seconds stretched into thousands, I think of the moment before a fist connects with a jaw. That could be for a combination of reasons, but the one that stands out is that I'm so familiar with it. I've known that moment since I was 13, when I got into my first fight.

Looking back on it, I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner. Maybe I just had a tighter rein on my emotions before. Maybe every kid was just charitably nice to me, the gloomy, orphaned kid, for three whole years. Maybe all the hormones that started raging through me at the time unlocked all the pent-up rage. I don't know. What I know for certain is that some other kid - I don't even remember his name - had made it a part of his daily routine to walk up behind me, smack me in the back of the head, and say in a husky voice, "Hey, goth fag," followed by some taunt about my parents or my family's wealth or his myriad of reasons why I counted, in his mind, as a "goth fag". To be fair, I wasn't really a fan of bright colors back then.

I can't even recall how long this had been a part of normal life for me and this kid when I finally decided enough was enough. But I remember exactly what happened.

An open palm struck the back of my head, making it snap forward. The kid whispered in a voice that reminded me of what I imagined throat cancer sounded like, "Hey, goth fag." My face twisted in frustration. I threw my fist backwards, past my right ear. It flew into the kid's Adam's apple. He staggered backward, but he recovered quicker than I had anticipated. I hadn't thought this through. I turned to face him, and then came the moment. I saw his eyes, full of hatred, his teeth bared in a grimace, his nostrils flared, his face scrunched and red with rage, and then, finally...his fist. It struck the left side of my jaw, sending me sprawling. Just then, a teacher arrived to keep him from whaling on me.

We both got sent to the principal's office. The other kid received more severe disciplinary action, but the student consensus was that I had lost the fight. The thing was, it didn't bother me. I knew I'd lost as well as anyone else, but I didn't care. When I was sitting outside the principal's office, I kept staring at my hands, each one resting palm down in my lap. The punch to the kid's throat hadn't hurt my right hand, but somehow it still felt...different. I turned it palm up and stared some more. What was it?

 _That fight felt good_.

I clenched my right hand into a fist and turned it back over.

* * *

When I got home that day, I was greeted by Alfred like always. He didn't say anything until I stepped inside. I turned to him, expectant.

He closed the door, locked it, and turned to me, sighing, "Master Bruce, I received a call from the school..."

"Yeah...I know, Alfred...I-"

"Are you all right, Master Bruce?"

I was taken aback. I gave Alfred a sideways glance as I asked slowly, "You're not...angry I got into a fight?"

"Heavens, no, of course not," Alfred chuckled, "The principal explained everything, in rather  _clear_  detail. The way I see it, Master Bruce, he had it coming. Now, back to my original question: are you all right?"

I even cracked a slight smile as I replied, "My jaw's a little sore," rubbing the left side of my face, "But he didn't knock out any teeth or anything."

"Ah. And how is  _he_ doing?"

"I mean, he's mostly fine. I punched him in the neck."

Alfred laughed at that.

I joined in, admitting, "I really thought you'd be mad."

Alfred ended his laughter with another sigh and said, "Just like old king Solomon said, 'there is a time for peace and a time for war'. You'd kept your peace for a long while, Master Bruce. I think it was  _high_  time for a bit of war."

I looked into Alfred's kind eyes for a few moments longer until I asked, "Have you been in many fights, Alfred? You were a spy, right? Dad always told me you did all the boring spy stuff, though. Just watching people and stuff."

As Alfred led me into the kitchen for an afternoon snack, he glanced at the floor and smiled. He quickly turned his attention back to me and said, "I could see Thomas doing that. I assure you, Master Bruce, it was  _not_ all boring stuff. And for the record, I have been in numerous fights. And I've won...most of them."

We entered the kitchen and I sat down on a stool at the island while Alfred withdrew some hummus and sliced vegetables. He set them down and opened the hummus, dipping some celery in and taking a big, crunching bite. I did likewise, relishing this revelation.

"What kind of fighting can you do, Alfred?" I asked eagerly, karate chopping the air with celery still in hand (and mouth).

Alfred took another bite and thoughtfully replied, "The  _combat systems_ I know include krav maga, jiu-jitsu, boxing, and karate."

My jaw sank lower and lower and my grin grew wider and wider as Alfred listed each one off. Suddenly my butler was cool.

"Can you teach me some moves, Alfred?" I practically begged, "Can you, please?"

Alfred smirked, "Master Bruce, it would be a perfect pleasure...but I still have a few things to set in order around here, and you and I both know you need to catch up on your assignments. Perhaps this weekend."

I nodded in resignation, sliding off the stool and saying, "Okay. I'll go do homework, I guess. I think I'll go tree climbing after."

As he put away the food, Alfred responded, "That sounds like a reasonable action plan to me. You know the rules."

Before I passed into the hall leading to my room, I shot Alfred one more glance and said, "Through and through."

* * *

There were certainly rules for playing on the expansive, wooded grounds of Wayne Manor. And I most definitely knew them through and through. They'd been hammered home by my dad my entire childhood.

One: Don't go so far you lose sight of the house.

Two: Don't cross the creek in the woods after we've had a lot of rain.

Three: Steer clear of anything that looks like a snake hole. There are copperheads.

Four: Always bring a flashlight, especially if you're out in the evening.

Five: Don't climb any tree that's dead or taller than the house.

Six: Never, ever, under any circumstances, step foot near or (God forbid) in the cave.

The cave wasn't as much a cave as a pit. A couple years after my dad inherited the place, way before I was born, he figured out that the foundations of Wayne Manor were right beside a huge underground cavern, the entrance to which laid across the creek. Recognizing the danger, one his forefathers had ignored, he paid a crew to strengthen the foundations from inside the cavern. They found out quickly that a large group of bats had a residence there. That complicated things, but the work was eventually done. The reason the cavern was off limits, aside from the bats, was that it  _also_ contained a number of pits and short tunnels connected to the main chamber. The construction crew found this out the hard way when one guy slipped and broke both legs and a wrist from the fall.

After all that, it was a no brainer to make the cave off limits. This was the one rule I had never broken.

I guess I was feeling rebellious that day. Thirteen-year-old boys are funny that way, aren't they? Rules truly become suggestions in their minds.

Once I finished my homework, I grabbed a coat and a flashlight. "Hey Alfred," I announced, "I'm going outside now."

Alfred poked his head into the hall after a few seconds, saying, "Excellent, Master Bruce. Be careful. I'll see you at dinner."

"You got it."

I stepped out of the front door and made a bee line for the creek. It hadn't rained much in the preceding days, so the creek was a jumping distance across. Once on the other side, I clambered up the bank, and there it was: the yawning mouth of the cave. I flicked on the flashlight, peering inside.

The entrance wasn't much to speak of. It was just a round opening that could be accessed by a low-grade slope which proceeded toward the house. Evidently it ran directly underneath the creek. You had to duck to get in, but other than that it was easy. I looked back at the house.

"Here we go," I whispered to no one in particular, finally tearing my gaze from the house. I ventured into the cave.

The passage down to the main chamber was a longer walk than anticipated. I was just thinking I should have brought some water when the passage opened up. There I was: the cavern. About forty feet in height and several times that in length and width, it felt like I'd stumbled on a pirate's hideout or something. Water trickled and gurgled from openings in the walls. Straight ahead of me, there were the steel supports that had been added to the house's foundation.

Of course, there's one thing everyone has to do in a cave. So I yelled, "Hello!"

The word bounced off the walls and returned to me a number of times before dying. I laughed to myself. This was awesome.

And then I heard it.

A squeak. Another one. Something...animal. I raised my flashlight's beam to the ceiling.

Hundreds, maybe thousands of bats were nestled on the ceiling of the cave, squeaking and fluttering about. I let out a shaky breath. I knew bats weren't all that aggressive or dangerous. I wasn't about to get scared.

As though my thoughts of courage reached one of them, I felt something flutter against my back. I jumped and wildly turned, trying to catch whatever it was with my flashlight. Instead, my only source of light flew out of my shaky grip. It tumbled across the floor of the cave and went over the edge of one of the pits, breaking at the bottom. It was now pitch black, and suddenly the bats became a whole lot scarier.

* * *

I didn't move for what felt like hours, surrounded by the continual cacophony of squeaking and fluttering. I felt the brush of leathery wings once or twice more, and then felt the rush of wind and heard the screeches of a passing group of the bats. I wanted to move. But I didn't want to end up like my flashlight. Tears began to form in my eyes, and I let out more than a few sniffles.

It felt like a miracle when I heard Alfred yell, "Master Bruce, are you there?" and saw a light begin to emerge. I slowly shuffled around, looking toward it. Alfred came into the chamber, looking more panicked than I'd ever seen him. When he saw me, he let out a heavy sigh of relief and rushed over.

I cried aloud as Alfred met me, hugging me close.

"Master Bruce, you mustn't scare me like that! Are you all right?"

I looked up at the ceiling, shrouded in darkness, and shook my head vigorously. "I promise I won't come back in here, Alfred," I said, openly weeping, "Just take me back to the house. I want to go back to the house."

Alfred nodded, leading me by the hand. "Of course, Master Bruce," he assured me, "I'll get you out of here. You don't have to be scared."

But I was. And I'd never felt greater relief than when we finally stepped out of that cave. I never wanted to go back. And I never wanted to see a bat again.


End file.
